01 October 2012

Magpie Tales 137: Feed We Must

It Must Be Time For Lunch Now, 1979, by Francesca Woodman, via Magpie Tales

October 17th, [redacted]. Nightfall.

J[ink blurred]...you didn't tell me. You didn't tell me when I met you and [redacted] that I would hate her and fall in love with you.

How could I have known? Of course not. There was no way out from behind those blue-grey eyes, looking at and through me. I was caught, from that first moment. The sea over your shoulder a mirror of those eyes. Me, drowning. 

I am confused, worried, that I can't remember exactly where we were. It was Naxos, yes, don't chide me. But what beach? Was it Agia [redacted] or [redacted]? Goddamnit, I am so tired of trying to remember where when I all I want to hold is you, [tear in page]. I feel the heat, the light. I taste the salt on your skin.

[water stains, smudged ink] was your hold on me, wasn't it? Retsina and octopus salad, olives, lemon and eggs. These I also remember, the Aegean on our tongues. You fed my body and drained me soul. You didn't tell me you were a succubus.

I should have known. [redacted] tried to warn me, but I...I thought she was trying to turn you against me. Is that why you followed me to N[ink blurred]k? The nights in the walk-up must have made you question your sanity. It was cold, that fall, and frozen all winter.

But still we ate. The next meal never far from your mind, our mouths. I didn't question you, [redacted], even when the pictures started. It was then that you started falling, drifting away from me. The fits, the nights and days of no sleep. You stopped eating enough, then stopped eating at all.

I have your camera, still. I found it after the funeral. I had no idea, [tear in page], that it would be the last I ever saw of you. All those frames, fog and ink. Except the last.

Were you in the kitchen? You must have been. I recognize the window sill, the dirty window glass. It must have been so cold for you, especially for not having eaten for so long.

I eat still. I cannot stop. [redacted], [redacted], [redacted] have told me so. 

They come for me tomorrow, [ink blurred]...I pray that I will feast on something, even if it is gruel and a stale crust washed down with tepid well water. I must eat, [redacted], because the memory of love will not keep me alive.

You have taught me so. And I must eat. 

[ink blurred, torn page]


  1. I really liked your style on this one. It worked so well with Woodman's strange photo.

  2. .... names, pertinent details omitted to protect the innocent? The guilty?

  3. Maybe for Please Insert Name here...

  4. I love this emotive script, Irish. The eating disorders encapsulated by the memory fogginess and the desire for love is sad and telling. Thank you for sharing your talent here. =D

  5. Love all the tears/tears and ink splotches...

  6. @terlee: It was a bit of new territory for me. I liked it. Glad you did too!

    @Linda: I think the writing of it was a bit of a fugue state. Thank you.

    @~T: Exactly! Thank you for stopping by!


"Let your laws come undone
Don't suffer your crimes
Let the love in your heart take control..."

-'The Hair Song', by Black Mountain

Tell me what is in your heart...